


No Going Back Now

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It has been too long since he's fed, too long since Castiel pulled Dean close to his body and raised his wrist to the vampire's mouth. Too long since Dean has felt sated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Going Back Now

**Author's Note:**

> Totally unbeta'd and there is absolutely no reason for this. So, yeah. Enjoy!

It's hot. Throbbing. Black.

His eyes feel like they're burning, searing him as the creature smiles. Black lines his mouth, a thin, dark line running from the corner of his grinning mouth, down his chin, disappearing into his clothes. It's thick, shining, like molasses. Smells pretty damn sweet, too.

He wants to taste.

The scent…he smells like rain, like water – fresh water. Not stagnant and bitter like humans when they come in from outside; fresh, enticing, as though touching him would be like touching the smooth, cool surface of ivory or steel. Of bone. His fingers itch to touch, curling in tight enough that he leaves marks in his palms, his jaw clenching, gums aching as he fights back his shark-like second set of teeth.

He wants to touch.

The creature's blue, blue eyes flash. His smirk widens and, silently, he lifts one hand, dipping his head. Black oozes from his fingertips, as though conjured from underneath his nails like dirt and grime, and from his hairline another thicker trail drips down, clouding one of his eyes, marking his pale face with darkness.

A low growl breaks the silence between them.

His fingers curl again, palm tipped upwards, bare, thin skin of his wrist exposed, seductive. The pale blue vein has a black twin throbbing underneath the surface of his skin and the second man licks his lips, green eyes darkening in bloodlust.

His second set of teeth slide forward and lock into place of their own accord.

Castiel smiles. "Come here, Dean," he murmurs, his voice holding no room for argument – a command, as one would give to a dog. An order from what was once a God.

Dean snarls, upper lip curling back, defiance written into the set of his shoulders, the arch of his neck as he tosses his head and takes a step back, the scent and sound of Castiel's blood rushing in his veins too seductive, too enticing. He wants to ignore it, knows he can't – it has been too long since he's fed, too long since Castiel pulled Dean close to his body and raised his wrist to the vampire's mouth. Too long since Dean has felt sated.

His throat feels dry, on fire. He is so thirsty.

His refusal angers the creature – Castiel's eyes go flat, his teeth bared and black welling up in small droplets around his teeth. "Come here, Dean," he growls again, curling his fingers forward. Something presses against Dean's shoulders and the vampire breathes in deep, shaking around his exhale. He feels like he can't see – everything's red.

"No," he grits out, just barely managing to keep himself back, from succumbing. Who knows what would happen with that black poison flowing through his veins, the overly-sweet smell of rotting fruit and honey in his mouth. Can't take that risk.

The Leviathan's growl fills the room – like a giant creature has just been woken from sleeping and the very walls shudder with its presence – the sound is low, rolling, feels like smog and Dean shivers, baring his own teeth in answer, shoulders tensing at the feeling of weight on them, of eyes, ice blue and tainted with black in the middle, sparking in challenge, in command.

And then suddenly there is cold stone against Dean's back, Castiel moving faster than even his supernatural senses can keep up with, the saddle of Castiel's hand pressing tight to his throat, cradling his larynx and pushing in, and up, cutting off the vampire's airway.

Dean chokes, known he doesn't technically need to breath, but fighting against being pinned in such an intimate way anyway – his fingers come up, curl around the long, tight line of Castiel's fingers, try and yank down, and Castiel snarls again – that rolling sound that Dean can feel in the thrum of the creature's pulse, pressed so fierce against his neck, and the grip shifts, moves to his jaw, hard enough that Dean winces as skin rubs against bone and his jaw feels like it's about to crack, to snap and bend to Castiel's will.

One of Castiel's eyes is no longer blue – black leaking from the center of his blown pupil and tainting the iris and the white beyond, slow and black like an oil spill – Dean notices when he forces his eyes open, baring his teeth in what is meant to be threat. But Castiel just smiles – wide, toothy, flashing white and black and open in a way that is wrong and frightening and Dean shivers, trying to pull away, to fight back.

But the Leviathan's grip is unbreakable, unless Dean wants to lose his bottom jaw.

After that brief blur of movement, of fight and tension, Castiel abruptly goes still again. He tilts his chin up, mismatched eyes appraising Dean, but it is not a gesture of invitation – he doesn't bare his throat to the vampire and allow him the full scent and sight of his open, unguarded vein – not that Dean needs it. His nostrils flare wide, adrenaline forcing his burning lungs to breathe as a human, and the scent of Castiel's blood is so much sweeter now, somehow decadent and forbidden in how tainted it must be.

Castiel shifts his grip on Dean's jaw, curling his fingers into the soft underside and hooking up until Dean has the sick feeling that Castiel might pierce right through his skin, and he moves his thumb to rest against the vampire's lower lip. Dean snarls at him, snapping on reflex, and Castiel smiles once more.

"Easy now, beloved," he murmurs, tilting his head to one side, just a little further than he used to. Dean blinks at him, upper lip curling back in a snarl at the pet name, and the creature laughs, tilting his head up again, sharp teeth sinking into his own lower lip as he slides his thumb along Dean's lip, scrapes the tip of his nail across the vampire's unnatural, shark-like teeth. "I like you like this," he decides, eyes flashing in pleasure when Dean swallows. He can _smell_ the sticky-sweet scent of Castiel's blood, feel how it thrums underneath his skin like the rhythm of an animal giving chase or a steady-fast war drum.

Dean swallows, throat sandpaper-rough and body burning with thirst – his fingers dig in more sharply, one against Castiel's hand, the other finding the sleeve of his black-stained trench coat and tugging, fisting harshly. "I don't want it," he bites out, lying through clenched teeth, and Castiel merely chuckles, and raises a black-coated finger to his lips.

He slides it into his own mouth without a word, messy with it, letting what has gathered in the gaps between his fingers smear across his lips and the black stains on his chin, mixing together. Dean swallows again, licking his lips unbidden, his eyes wide and focused intently on the slow slide of Castiel's stained finger into his mouth, then out again, cleaned, or smeared across his lips. A small, high-pitched sound leaves Dean and he presses forward, thirst overriding his common sense, just for a second, but it is all Castiel needs.

He lets his mouth open at the insistent press of Dean's teeth. They've done this so many times before that it is just natural for Castiel to let Dean bite at his mouth, force his lips further apart, and the Leviathan's snarl turns into a purr when he feels the delicate skin of his vessel split, red blood and dark essence flooding his mouth, and he pushes it into Dean's with his tongue, seals his lips tight and forces his hand back to Dean's throat so the vampire cannot pull away.

Dean has no choice but to swallow – the black goo is thicker than blood, more like milk on his tongue and the back of his throat than the water of blood, and he wants to hate the taste – wants to, but can't. It tastes so damn sweet like overly-cinnamoned apple pie and before Dean realizes what he's doing, he's licking into Castiel's mouth, greedy and demanding and his teeth are biting down for more and his hand is fisting in Castiel's hair to keep the creature close to him.

"There we go," Castiel snarls in triumph, the Leviathan's eyes flashing with victory as he smiles wide. His lips are split and there's blood dripping from at least five different places from where Dean's teeth had bitten too hard, and the blood is mixing with the blackness of the Leviathan and Dean merely makes a soft sound of want, tongue flattening along the black and red smeared across Castiel's jaw, greedy and wet as he tries to drink in Castiel through his skin. "That's it, Dean, there we go…"

But Dean does not hear him – cannot hear him. His mind and his instincts are fully entrenched in the throes of bloodlust and without another second wasted he has a leg hooked behind Castiel's knee and throws all of his weight down onto the creature, and uses the split second advantage that gets him to wrench Castiel's head to one side and sink his teeth into the Leviathan's exposed throat.

He tastes so different now, and fights in a way he never used to when Dean would feed from him like this – the Leviathan's rumbling snarl, he can feel it between his legs and against his own chest, has him shuddering at the power in it, and he tears at the creature's throat like a wolf stealing meat before it's his time – trying to get as much as he can before the Alpha catches on and punishes him for it.

Castiel's fingers knot tightly in Dean's hair and pull him back, the vampire can feel the Leviathan creatures rolling in the black goo he is so eagerly drinking down, wonders if they will survive in the damned corpse that is his body. He drinks so much that he feels sick, nauseous with the amount he is taking, too much sweetness all at once and his body is still trembling with desire.

"Cas," he whispers, when he feels a little bit of his humanity creeping back onto the edges of his psyche, makes him realize just how weak the hand grasping at him is and how Castiel has stopped breathing. He draws back, eyes wide as he looks down at the bloodied mass of torn flesh that used to be Castiel's neck. The creature is still, looking up at him with blank eyes, like he isn't even there. Can't hear Dean anymore. He blinks once. "Cas?" More worried, now, licking his lips just because the scent is still everywhere, of blood and sweet and iron.

He strokes a hand through Castiel's hair, tries to listen for a pulse, and then suddenly Castiel is up, and on him, shoving him down onto his stomach on the cold cement floor. Dean growls, realizing he's been played, struggles with all his might but Castiel has his arms pinned under his knees, weight resting on the small of his back and then suddenly there's a hand at the back of his neck and Dean can't move because he feels pressure at his skull and it's making it difficult to think straight.

"Shh," the Leviathan whispers, slowly letting Dean's arms free, shifting back so that he can lean down and whisper in the vampire's ear; "Hush now, beloved. I'm going to take care of you. You need it; you should never let your guard down, Dean. You taught me that."

"Go to Hell," Dean hisses, low and under his breath, and Leviathan merely laughs, leaning down and nuzzling against the back of Dean's neck. Dean can still feel his blood dripping down, hot and wet and so Goddamn sweet. He feels nauseous again.

"But sweetheart, it's so nice up here," Castiel whispers, running his goo-coated hands through Dean's hair, marking him with his scent as he shifts down lower, hands turning into claws to rip through his clothes and bare the vampire's body to his questing mouth. "And everyone is so inviting."

Dean clenches his eyes shut, gritting his teeth – both sets – as he feels the Leviathan's hands shamelessly explore his body, blackness smearing around his skin, and he knows that he'll walk away from this – if he walks away at all – bearing marks of the creature's claim on him.

At least Castiel has the decency to cover his mouth with a black-stained hand, so that no one has to listen to him scream.

  



End file.
